In the bustling town where two rivers converged, people came and went in endless streams.
At a teahouse by the window, a young man with gray-flecked hair set down the green tea he had barely sipped, his other hand pinching a black stone between his fingers. He placed it on the board with a crisp, clear tap.
He looked barely twenty years old, yet the weariness in his eyes spoke of ages long past.
His opponent across the board was a breathtakingly beautiful woman clad in a sea-blue robe.
Her hair cascaded to the ground like a waterfall, bangs veiling half her face while the exposed half was sculpted with an otherworldly perfection.
Yet, eerily, a spearhead pierced through her chest where her heart should be—a cold glint of metal flickering beneath her robes.
The spearhead seemed to have fused with her flesh, rising and falling faintly with each breath, yet not a single drop of blood seeped out.
A gray blur flickered past the window as a Grey Sparrow and a raven flew back together.
The raven transformed into a black stone, and the sparrow into a white stone, each dropping into their respective stone bowls with a soft clink like jade striking jade.
The woman mused for a moment, then picked up the white stone that had been the sparrow and placed it at the very center of the board.
“Oh? It seems you believe you’ve gained a fine piece.”
The young man raised an eyebrow, his gray-white bangs trembling slightly.
“What fine piece… Cang Jie, this board is yours. What pieces could I possibly get? Isn’t it all your call? Pity that for tens of thousands of years, I’ve yet to win a single match.”
The woman tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the corners of her lips curling upward, though a flicker of resentment danced in her shifting gaze.
“Hahaha, not a single match won—truly, you’ve never won a single one.”
The young man called Cang Jie tapped the table lightly with his index finger, his laughter hearty.
“But then again, it doesn’t matter how many games you lose, my lady. If I lose even one, I’m done for.”
As they spoke, Cang Jie picked up the black stone that had been the raven, poised to make his move—but his gaze suddenly froze.
He stared at a point in the void beyond the window, as if piercing through layers of space, straight to the top of Black Stone Cliff.
“Sigh. These two young girls are each other’s Inner Demon. Fighting like this won’t do.”
Cang Jie furrowed his brow, the hand holding the black stone hovering in midair, refusing to fall.
The woman followed his gaze with a glance out the window, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with a soft smile:
“Since we’ve both set our sights on those two, why not simply let them both enter the inner illusion?
We already have enough candidates who’ve earned their qualifications.”
“So be it.”
Cang Jie pondered for a moment, let out a sigh, and his shoulders sagged slightly.
“Though this way, the illusion will be constructed based on that little girl you chose. But since it hardly matters who we pick, let’s go with that.”
As the words fell, Cang Jie struck a piece down upon the board.
The crisp crack of stone meeting wood was like a thunderclap splitting the barrier of some distant space.
The top of Black Stone Cliff.
Purple-gold Righteous Qi and the ten-step sword circle formed from heaven-and-earth sword momentum clashed and interwove.
Twin Refined Iron Short Swords trembled and sang, their purple-gold and scarlet light casting the gray sky alternately bright and dim.
The air grew viscous, each breath like swallowing mud laced with iron filings.
Bai Yao understood that Liu Linglin’s ten-step sword circle was no small matter.
Their life-and-death victory would be decided in the space of a lightning flash.
“Two strikes… I can only manage two strikes.”
Bai Yao first glanced at the short sword in her hand, then at the other sword floating to her left, her next winning move already clear in her mind.
“If two strikes can’t take her life, then I am the one who falls.”
Across from her, Liu Linglin knew it just as well.
Whether she could withstand Bai Yao’s two all-out strikes would determine victory or defeat—and beyond life and death, who would walk the great path onward.
This battle, in truth, had long transcended their mortal lives.
This was a clash between two irreconcilable paths.
Either you die, or I do.
The mountain wind stopped.
The leaves of the Red Mulberry Tree no longer swayed, as if the entire cliff were holding its breath, even the mist seeming to freeze midair.
The next instant, Bai Yao moved.
The Refined Iron Short Sword floating to her left left behind only a purple-gold Sword Qi afterimage, already striking first with a devious arc straight for Liu Linglin’s throat.
At the same time, her right hand gripped her sword and surged forward, planning to strike from both sides and leave Liu Linglin unable to defend both ends.
“Liu Linglin!” Bai Yao’s voice was cold as iron, detonating across the deathly silent cliff.
“Come on! Let’s see who dies first!” Liu Linglin likewise held nothing back, her sword momentum instantly soaring to its limit, her sheer gauze dress snapping loudly in the Sword Qi.
Yet her swordplay caught Bai Yao completely off guard.
Defend? What a joke.
That was Purple-gold Righteous Qi—even if [Jian Zhi Yin Yang] were ever so exquisite, Liu Linglin held only one sword. She couldn’t possibly block two simultaneous strikes.
Since she couldn’t defend, she wouldn’t defend.
Attack directly.
Trade life for life.
Liu Linglin’s form refused to retreat—instead, she lunged forward, her slender sword thrusting straight for Bai Yao’s heart.
It was a mutually destructive gambit.
The madness in her eyes mirrored Bai Yao’s own, her alluring features twisting in that moment into something near-ferocious in its beauty.
Surprise flashed across Bai Yao’s eyes for only an instant, replaced by a fiercer, brighter madness.
She did not change her move or fall back to defend.
Instead, she drove her short sword faster and harder, her left floating sword gaining yet more speed—the shrieking of the blade tearing through air was piercing beyond belief.
Both of them had chosen the same path: a sword trajectory that seemed to court mutual destruction yet was truly a desperate gamble to survive by embracing death.
Their blade tips were a mere three inches from each other’s vitals.
Bai Yao could even smell the warm scent mixed of blood and powdered cosmetics on Liu Linglin’s sword.
Liu Linglin could feel the searing sting of Purple-gold Righteous Qi burning her skin, like ice beneath a scorching sun—every pore screaming.
Who dies first? Who dies later? Or do they die together?
But just then, a sudden anomaly struck.
A blazing white light flashed from the Red Mulberry Tree—so brilliant it was as if a small sun had detonated atop the cliff.
Within the white light pulsed an undeniable will that swallowed both figures whole, just before their blade tips could pierce flesh.
Bai Yao felt the world spin, her consciousness sinking into chaos and confusion.
She seemed to have forgotten who won that final battle against Liu Linglin.
Did the blade pierce the other’s heart? Was her own heart run through?
Everything turned blank, as if an invisible hand had erased that memory from existence.
Until she opened her eyes again.
Before her stretched a surging crowd.
The cries of street vendors, haggling voices, and the rumbling of carts and horses blended into a cacophony so loud it was like someone beating gongs and drums right by her ears.
The air carried the burnt-sweet fragrance of sugar-roasted chestnuts, the reeking stench of livestock manure, and the savory aroma of scallions and lard wafting from a roadside wonton stand—a flood of smells all crashing into her nostrils at once.
Bai Yao stood dazed in the center of a bustling town, her feet on a bluestone-paved ground, hard and warm beneath her soles as if baked by the sun all day.
The Saintess robe of the Xuan Yu Sect she’d been wearing had somehow become plain white cloth garments, rough in texture—yet it brought Bai Yao an inexplicable peace of mind.
“This is… inside that town? Where is Liu Linglin?”
Bai Yao looked around in confusion.
Pedestrians jostled shoulder to shoulder, yet not a single familiar face among them.
She tried to search the crowd for that flash of crimson, but only countless unfamiliar visages swayed before her eyes.
Just then, a storyteller’s wooden block cracked through the air with a sound as sharp as stone striking metal, cutting through the clamor of the marketplace in an instant.
Bai Yao turned her head.
At the corner of the square, at an open-air table, a young storyteller in a gray long robe was reciting a tale in a measured, rhythmic cadence.
The folding fan in his hand opened and shut, his gray bangs trembling slightly with each motion of his head:
“Picking up where we left off—the youth, Holy Mother Taiyuan, slew the demonic dragon Meng Zhang at the Abyssal Chasm of old, yet was caught in the beast’s self-detonation and plunged into the chasm’s depths. By the grace of Xuanwu Zhiming, who gave his life to save her, she fell into the deeper Secret Realm and discovered the colossal remains of the primordial ancestor dragon of legend. But the danger was far from over—for the enemy hunting her down now was none other than the blood kin of Emperor Xuanye himself!”
*sigh*
this story is getting so boring…🙄